


Home is where no Hostiles are

by kimbureh



Series: Breaking Twigs [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Blind Betrayal, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, eventually shippy i guess, spoilers for the late game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-10 05:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17420375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimbureh/pseuds/kimbureh
Summary: “I am a liar, not a snitch. Those two things are basically opposites.”---Post-Blind Betrayal, Sanctuary Hills.Danse is a sadblob, Deacon is a helpful jerk.





	1. Camp Fire

As sturdy as the X-01 power armor is that Danse found and fixed up in that forsaken Listening Post, it has a large blind spot. The heavy plates around his shoulders guarding the vulnerable neck block a not insignificant degree of his field of vision.  
Protection in exchange for a narrow sight.

How adequate, he thinks.

In that regard it’s Quite similar to the T-60 models utilized by the Brotherhood, very much like his own suit of power armor as a Paladin used to be. Black and red, the appropriate paint for his rank, the Brotherhood insignia proud on the chest, and of course-- huge shoulder plates preventing any glance to left or right.

The Brotherhood only knows one direction: forward.

 

On the outside, Danse’s face is calm and unmoving. He's out there in his power armor securing the perimeter while the reconstruction of Sanctuary Hills is well underway. Sturges and that Minuteman Garvey lead the construction of the main buildings. The two seem to know a lot about both repairing things and building structures from scratch. Sturges is a jack-of-all-trades type, but that a Minuteman is skilled in handiwork is a surprise. Danse regularly helps them move around large components for house building and relocating wall pieces with his X-01 suit, but apart from modifying weapons and fixing power armor, he got no skills in constructing anything.

Pouring concrete hasn’t been in his job description so far.

He feels left out when Sturges and Garvey discuss blueprints and the structural engineering of the houses. Even the Longs contribute some ideas on how to make the place more liveable, causing heated debates on what can and cannot be done with the interiors, where the new garden should be, and how things should be arranged and prettied up.

Even though when they are fighting, they’re all so familiar with each other.

Danse only gets asked his opinion on security details, nobody wants to know how he likes the things they're building. Just another indicator that this is just a temporary solution. He doesn't belong here and they don't accept him fully. And how could they? He's a Synth. They don’t know that, and if things go his way, they never will. Being a former Brotherhood Paladin alone makes matters complicated enough.

Danse passes by the partially collapsed buildings, scanning the vicinity for any movement. Behind one of the more stable houses in which most of the settlers from Quincy made camp, he can see the Minuteman and that old woman arguing. Danse tries to keep his distance. The woman tries to shake off Garvey’s grip on her forearm, while he keeps insistently talking to her.

“Leave me be!” She complains. “We all need the Sight, and you know it.”

Garvey lets her go, obviously not wanting to upset her anymore. “Just… at least talk to a doctor when one comes to our settlement. Mama Murphy?” She’s walking to the door, waving Preston off. For a moment Preston looks defeated. As he notices Danse passing by, he immediately composes himself.

“Danse.”

“Garvey.”

A nod, then each of them mind their own business.  
It’s not hostility, but there’s a particular stiffness in all interactions with the settlers. Since they usually don’t are like this with each other, Danse reads it as a specific discomfort caused by his presence. 

They know he doesn’t belong here, it’s almost like they can sense he is not human.

He is treated with respect, true, all available resources are shared without question, and he sure enough pulls his own weight by implementing and maintaining the automatic weapons system, keeping the settlement safe. After all, the settlers respect Nora enough to tolerate him after he followed her invitation to Sanctuary. But she’s the only reason they keep things civil around him. Danse is absolutely certain about that.

 

He remembers how it all began-- Haylen warning him, him fleeing to Listening Post Bravo out in the middle of nowhere.  
Nora saved him that day, convincing not only Maxson that Danse deserved to live, but also himself.  
He wanted to believe her so much. And he did. But doubt is creeping in again.  
Since that day he has to hide from his former brothers and sisters. They believe Nora killed Danse, for the Brotherhood, and if they saw him out in the Commonwealth they would open fire believing he was a synth replica.

Ironic how that’s not even so far from the truth.  
He scoffs at that thought.

Despite the work at hand, things have been unbearably slow. It’s only been three weeks since he arrived here, four since he learned the truth about himself. So much happened, time went fast and slow at once. 

For several days now Nora and some sketchy guy have disappeared on a secret recon mission. In fact, during most of his stay at the settlement, the two have been on various ops. Danse met that suspicious person for the very first time when he had just relocated to Sanctuary Hills. That sly looking guy introduced himself as John D. A limp handshake and a taunting smile. 

Most likely a spy, Danse thinks, definitely not a honest soldier.

However, Nora trusts him with her life. Having a friend like her around would make things easier for Danse, but he would never ask of her to neglect her duties for him. As for this John… his presence makes Danse feel uneasy. But he trusts Nora’s assessments in allies over his own judgement. Now more than ever.

The first few days after everything went sideways were tough. He will be forever thankful for what Nora did, how much she risked to save his life. Supporting her in return as best as he possibly can is a question of honor.

Honor.  
How different that rings to him now.  
If he still has some of that left in his synthetic body…

But fact is: He endangered his only true friend. Had anything happened to Nora, it would have been his fault. It would have been an unacceptable tragedy had she died over trying to save a mere synth.

He ran away and only caused more problems-- That day in the bunker, he really believed Nora when she insisted he deserved to live. With her support, he even found the strength to stand up for himself in front of Maxson. Arthur. Who wanted to see him dead. Who would have executed him without batting an eye. Danse would have willingly deferred to his punishment if it meant repaying Nora the favor of granting him humanity.

He wanted to live. He still wants to. If only for obligation. But now, with the weight of his loss coming down on him--

Had he just jumped from the Prydwen.

Never would he have to put his friend through all this.  
Never would he be reduced to this pathetic existence.  
Never would he have... lost himself.

With the Brotherhood behind him, his path was always clear. No room for doubt, no time to hesitate. Clarity and purpose in all of his actions.

All gone.

 

The afternoon sun submerges the hills of Sanctuary in a soft golden glow. Danse finishes his patrol tour and is on his way to return the suit to the power armor station. Everything is so quiet, almost peaceful. The firm thuds of his heavy foot steps familiar and reassuring. 

Somehow he has to remember Paladin Brandis. The cautionary tale.

When they found him in Recon Bunker Theta, he was only an empty shell of a soldier. He had gone native, lost his drive, his discipline. It is possible to reach a point and never be the same again.

He can’t waste the second chance he got.

 

Danse doesn’t have a lot of fixed duties around Sanctuary Hills. The perimeter is secured by several automatic turrets of his own construction that basically make day patrols unnecessary, if not he needed them to clear his head. He takes shifts on night patrols with that Minuteman Garvey and sometimes with one of the settlers. Other than that, he pitches in where ever needed. Starting the campfire at dusk turns out to be a welcome daily habit for Danse. While everybody else is still busy cleaning up their workshops and projects, he enjoys some more time by himself getting the fire ready for dinner time.

Routines.

He misses them. Back aboard the Prydwen, with the Brotherhood, almost every minute of his day was strictly planned and served a purpose. In his spare freetime he enjoyed reading the summaries of local history the Scribes compiled.

Here in Sanctuary Hills, the days mostly lack structure and guiding. Even though there’s a lot to build and maintain in a settlement of this size, Danse feels useless more often than not.

He could do more, but he feels there is a distance between him and the settlers. Understandably, he thinks, he’s a machine built to deceive humans into thinking it’s one of them. They must feel he’s hiding something.

 

The lighter clicks and the tinder catches on fire. Carefully nursing the flame until he can first add twigs, then small pieces of wood. Darkness slowly creeping in, the other settlers in Sanctuary relying on scarce electricity to finish their work for the day.

This evening, a rather rare guest shows up at the campfire. That ‘John’, without Nora, strolls around to join just as Danse gets the fire going. The spy slash sniper slash ice cream vendor (or whatever he claims to be this time) didn’t seem to search the company of the ex-Brotherhood Paladin the last times they met, and vice-versa, for the flippant easy-going remarks didn’t sit well with Danse. Everything about this mysterious man screams ‘do not trust’. So when John sits down opposite to him on the other side of the fire, roasting some white substance on a stick he calls “marshmallows”, Danse expects a most uncomfortable conversation.

“Before you even ask, our mutual friend is fine.” John says in a playful tone.

“That’s good to hear.”

Danse is all stiff. He can’t read that man at all, the dark sunglasses only reflecting the flickering campfire. Ruining his relaxed evening routine.

“So, what have you been up to while we were gone?”

Ugh. Smalltalk with this insufferable person. “If you need a status update on the current reconstruction arrangements, I am sure Garvey can fill you in.”

“Quite the people pleaser, I can see that.”

“It was not my intention to offend you.”

“That’s a relief! You’d offend me even less if you gave up wanting to murder ghouls, for example.”

Danse scoffs and returns to fuelling the flame. Codsworth will want to cook dinner any minute now, and he gets insufferable if the fire isn’t ready. In any case, Danse is not interested in discussing his convictions with this man, and hopefully he’ll just shut up if he stops giving him attention. 

“Real talk, Paladin.” Danse is almost startled by the other man suddenly speaking again. Using his dead title. Such mockery. “You know that thing where you endlessly sulk around over the Brotherhood giving you the boot?”

Danse’s muscles twitch. “What?”

“It has to stop. It’s giving me pimples. How about you get a grip on yourself, pal, just for me to help me keep this mug look pretty.”

Unbelievable. He frowns and gets up. “I don’t have to sit there and let insult myself.”

“Then stand, I don’t mind.”

“What the heck is your problem, ‘John’?” Danse pronouncing the name with disgust, both of them knowing it’s a mock one anyway.

“Well, what’s yours? You’re a synth-”

Danse stops dead in his tracks, staring at him through the fire.

“Woohoo, big deal.” John continues, serenely roasting another marshmallow, “Not too many live to tell the tale. But you do.”

“How do you-”, Danse’s eyes dart around to see if there’s anybody in earshot, “Who told you that?!”

“I have my way of knowing things.”

“Don’t you dare tell anybody, or I’ll-”

“Relax, for a moment okay?” John cuts him off, Danse angry at himself that he allows it. “I am a liar, not a snitch. Those two things are basically opposites.” He smirks.

Danse is shaking his head incredulously, pacing two steps forward, one backwards. “I don’t even know who you are, and you dare to speak to me like this?”

“It does not matter who I am, does it.” John eats a marshmallow with delight. “Fact is: Danse, former Paladin of the Bros, has still enough pride left to feel insulted by a nobody.”

Danse can’t help but stare. He has no idea where this is going.

“And that’s good, actually,” Deacon continues, “It’s something to cling to, you know. Keeps you from putting lead in your head, or,” nodding at Danse’s holster, “grilling your brain with a laser.”

Danse’s mouth feels dry. He has had fantasies about ending his life too many times to count, but never told anyone. Shuffling his feet, he can’t help but look away. The sensation of being caught and then feeling ashamed over the attempted deed washes over him.

“Look. I don’t like you, obviously,” John neutrally states, “but your blues is dragging everyone down, and Nora wants to keep you. So I need you to get your shit together.”

“You don’t have to tell me that!” Slowly the campfire loses its light.

“That’s great.” John cheers with a fake looking smile, “saves me the big talk about hope and idealism and so on,” he gestures with the grilling stick in the air, “...about how after you’ve lost your raison d’être you can keep going for the sake of those who need you.” He rustles in a bag to find more marshmallows and pins them to the stick. “I’d hate to give such a corny speech to someone who knows better than me that underneath that ship wreck of an ideology? The Brotherhood wanted to make things better for people. And that’s still an option, even for a synth.”

Danse is staring back at this stranger who is leisurely chewing his treats as if they just had the most casual talk. Who the hell does he think he is?!

“Oh dear!” It’s Codsworth. “The fire is running out already. Does nobody else care about these things? I can’t manage all the chores on my own with all the cooking and cleaning…”

A feeling heavy like stone, Danse only remembers how to move once the other man turns to face the dying fire. The ground beneath his steps feels unreal as he walks away.


	2. Blind Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Wanderer _did_ have something to do with it all. Interestingly, Preston doesn’t have all the puzzle pieces either-- he’s not aware Danse is a synth, a detail Deacon keeps to himself for now.

Word got around quickly in the Railroad that a high ranking member of the Brotherhood had been exposed as a Synth. The rumors about who it was varied however. Some claimed it was one of the Proctors, secretly undermining their mission by tempering with crucial documents; others pointed to Senior Scribe Neriah, who was unpopular to begin with due to her field studies on various creatures of the Commonwealth. Some even dared to speculate it was Elder Maxson himself, replaced by the Institute and intended to be a powerful weapon.

When Deacon finally learns it is that one particular Paladin, he isn’t that much surprised. That guy always had a stick up his ass, probably some system dysfunction in combination with thorough Brotherhood brainwashing. Glory would kick him for that. Dammit, he tries to be one of the good guys here. He just can’t help but feel a certain satisfaction about this sweet irony. Not really satisfaction, simply a quite delightful “gotcha!” moment, or something like that. Not quite the appropriate reaction, he’s aware.

Deacon scratches his chin and doesn’t have to think long. He’s gotta go and learn more. Intel on shifting power structures can be vital for the Railroad after all. He’s got a hunch that his best pal Wanderer somehow has to be involved in this, and so he decides to travel to Sanctuary Hills.

Deacon and Danse met before, however unbeknownst to the latter. Deacon has seen him in Diamond City, Goodneighbor, Bunker Hill-- shiiit, Bunker Hill. Terrifying bunch, those Steel Bros. Deacon definitely doesn’t envy the Railroad Heavies for dealing with them up close. Some distance, a nice hideout and a sniper rifle, that’s Deacon’s style.

Travelling long routes on foot, however, is definitely not his style. Sanctuary Hills really sits on the far end of the Commonwealth. He’s gonna need new sneakers when he returns to HQ. And he just began to like those sneakers!

Finally, he reaches the Red Rocket and crosses the bridge to Sanctuary Hills. The place is still a huge pile of rubble, but a curated pile of rubble, he thinks. With most of the debris sorted by size and shape, certain pieces of junk even sorted by color for decoration.

He likes it.

Dogmeat is the first one to greet him with a friendly bark and a wagging tail, his kennel right on the other side of the bridge.  
“Hey there, buddy! Can’t fool your nose with any disguise, am I right?” Deacon pets the german shepherd dog. “Yeah I’d love to play with you,” he grins while playfully squishing Dogmeat’s face with both hands. “Don’t you look at me like that.” Deacon gets up searching for Preston. It’s time to find out what’s the deal here.

Turns out, Wanderer _did_ have something to do with it all. Interestingly, Preston doesn’t have all the puzzle pieces either-- he’s not aware Danse is a synth, a detail Deacon keeps to himself for now.

He learns Danse allegedly ‘chose’ to leave the Brotherhood for ‘some reason’, that Elder Maxson wanted to punish him with death, that Wanderer talked him into sparing Danse, that she even got promoted to being Paladin in his place, and that Wanderer is right now on the way to get Danse after he spent several days out there alone in some bunker.

Oof.

That is a lot to take in.

Like, what does that mean? Deacon marvels.  
Apart from whether or not Danse knew he’s a synth, the unspoken prize question is: Is Danse now on their side? Wanderer is playing the Bros and the Institute like a fiddle, he knows that much, but a man like Danse? Can he adapt his convictions?

“I’m having some seeerious doubts about that,” Deacon speaks with a mouth full of radstag stew. Him, Preston and Sturges sit around the fire for dinner, Codsworth buzzing around behind them to fetch, clean and complain like he is living his best of life.

“We’ll see about that,” Preston shrugs. “We might just be alright, as long as he doesn’t bring his Prydwen-sized ego with him.”

“Prydwen-sized!” Deacons snorts with laughter, “Preston. Once again I am in awe how you can say these hilarious things with a straight face. Amazing.”

Preston looks like he was just made fun of by a grade schooler. Whatever a grade schooler is.

“We- well I don’t know,” fighting to suppress a smirk, Sturges tries to bring the conversation back on track. “From what I hear these steel brothers are a little bit-”

“Fascist?” Deacon cheerily interjects, “you bet they are. It’s right there in their protected trademark.”

“I was gonna say intense, but yeah you might call them that.”

“Oh, I definitely do.” 

Deacon leans over to grab another piece of bread from a basket. “Codsworth, your baking skills are shockingly good. Where did you even manage to get flour? Wait-- I don’t wanna know.”

“My pleasure, Mister Deacon. I am willing to share my recipe with you anytime should you change your mind.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” He takes another bite. “Oh and one thing. Around _him_ ,” he nods at the distance, “I’m not Deacon, I’m John. Can’t be cautious enough with the Prydwen-sized fascist type of guys.”

“Deacon!!”

\---

 

“Danse, are you there?” Nora’s voice echoes through the low-ceilinged bunker.

“Affirmative.” A muffled voice from behind a windowed wall. “Where else would I go?”

Nora notices she was holding her breath and lets out a sigh of relief. When Danse told her he needed some time on his own, she was scared for his life. She didn’t leave without a promise to meet up again in a week’s notice-- no matter how unstable the former Paladin might be, he would honor a promise.

Nora steps through the narrow tunnel to enter the room in the back where she finds Danse crouched down tinkering on his latest project.

“Wow,” Nora involuntarily lets out. “It looks incredible.”

Danse wipes his greasy hands on some rag and gets up. “Kept me busy,” he modestly states.

“I’ve never seen power armor like this.” She steps over to the suit and traces the unfamiliar curves of the insect-like helmet. It’s positively immaculate, looking like it just rolled off the line.

“It’s a late pre-war model.” Danse factually explains. “They hardly had any opportunity to dispatch them to the military forces at the home front. At least that’s what our records suggest--” He stops mid sentence, shuffling his feet. “What I mean to say is, the Field Scribes of the Brotherhood acquired scattered pieces of the X-01 model, and discovered that production began only shortly before the bombs fell.”

How much he struggles to find the right words, Nora thinks, to verbally distance himself from his former affiliation.  
“That’s interesting.” She says, but today is not supposed to be about the past, for today’s the set day Danse agreed to relocate to Sanctuary Hills. Moving on with his life apart from the Brotherhood.

“So…” Nora nods to the suit of power armor, “Is it ready for action?”

Danse is purse-lipped, gently bumping the suit with his fist. “It sure is.”

“Then let’s go. It’s time for you to see some sunlight again.”

“I’m right behind you,” he says, and he means it.

 

\---

 

Hope.

Hope is such a charged word, Deacon thinks, far too big of a word, connected to far too many illusions and false promises.

It’s a deception on the best of days, and a burden on the worst of days.

If there is hope in the world, Deacon has none for himself. Doesn’t need to have hope to carry on and make the world a little bit less of a burning dumpster fire.

But actually hopeless people?

Those are the worst.

Hearing Danse was ready to give up makes Deacon furious. _Furious._

That poster boy of the Brotherhood had it all, still has it all, in Deacon’s opinion.

Combat training, resourcefulness, a sweet suit of power armor as the cherry on top.

If just his ethics didn’t lag behind.

That man would be a motherfucking powerhouse among the Railroad Heavies, on the field easily worth half a dozen of them. Danse would have been willing to give away his life for the Brotherhood and they didn’t even want to hear his side of the story? He would have preferred death over breaking their oh-so-holy Codex? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

Deacon can’t believe these things Wanderer is telling him in confidence later that evening she and Danse returned from his underground hideout.

“What a messed up little club those Steel Bros are. Good thing you managed to talk some sense into him, boss.”

“Yeah, me too…” she lets out a deep sigh and nods, “you two will get along, ‘John’?” She asks in a teasing tone.

“Oh yeah we’re just fine. Splendid.” What a big bunch of idiots, letting Danse go. Danse himself being the uncrowned king of idiots for valuing his life less than the assembled royal court of dumbasses. “Seriously though, you know I’m not the one to hold grudges. But in my line of work, you’re better a liiittle biiit too careful than not. Hence the new charming persona.”

Wanderer nods again, absentmindedly. “It’ll take a while for him to get used to living here. But I can’t stick around to make the transition easier. You know. In between staying on good terms with both the Brotherhood and the Institute while we come up with a plan.”

“Don’t worry, boss.” Deacon reassures her. “I’ll keep an eye out for your newly adopted puppy.”

She playfully nudges him. “Be nice. It’s been tough for him.”

“I’m not the malicious type. Not even to somebody like a fallen synth Paladin. Honest.”

 

\---

 

“Garvey, tell me where you want me.” Danse demands to know.

“Uh…” Preston is taken aback by this vigorous address, and also puzzled as to what Danse means exactly.

“There must be more than enough of work to do, tell me what you need and I’ll get it done.”

“Oh, ok, let me see…” This Danse makes it sound like Sanctuary Hills was a mismanaged giant dump. Preston bites back a remark. “You’re more than welcome to pitch in for night patrol. I’m usually the only one, and getting a full night’s sleep from time to time would be great.”

Danse nods. “Anything else? I notice there aren’t a lot of automated defense systems installed. I’d advise to make that a priority.”

“Yeah, good idea. I figure you have some experience with it?”

“Indeed I do, Garvey.”

“That’s great. Let me show you our parts and weapons depot. You can use all the tools you find at the workbench, but Sturges appreciates it if you return them to their place after using.”

“Understood.”

Wow. This person is exuding confidence. He’s nothing like Preston thought he would be, given what Danse has been through the past week. Impressive. And probably mostly facade. After Quincy, Lexington and then Concord, Preston was doing the same.  
Holding up a mask.

“Let me know if you can’t find anything.”

“Affirmative.”

 

The workload Danse is taking on is astouding. Within two weeks of focused laboring and little sleep, Danse turns the settlement almost into a fortress, with automatic turrets hidden in several key points of Sanctuary. Night shifts have become much calmer for Preston, with the new weapons system in place they’ve become mostly optional.

During all this time, Danse hasn’t made much effort to get to know the other settlers. With the completion of the turrets, Danse keeps himself busy by fine tuning the defense mechanism and, ironically, patrolling the perimeter even by day. 

Preston feels like Danse is purposely avoiding people by picking lonesome tasks, but if asked to help out, he never declines. Now, with the construction of new buildings for more settlers, Danse is needed with tasks that require cooperation. He never complains about it and is always willing to help, no matter how often Marcy Long decides and then changes her mind where to have which part of the house. Danse obviously favors spending time on his own, preferably with a useful task at his hands. So when Danse developed the habit of starting the fire every evening, Preston made sure the others tried not to bother him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if my English is weird, I'm not a native speaker and I don't have a beta reader oops


	3. Ticonderoga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse gets to spend more time with Deacon- err- John, yey !

When Nora returns to Sanctuary Hills, it’s clear she’s not here to stay. Big plans for arming settlements need her attention. She’s glad to see Danse, but has no time for pleasantries. She needs him out on the field, if he feels comfortable with that, considering there are Brotherhood squads swarming the Commonwealth all over. In all honest, he can’t wait to suit up again for combat. Even with the additional risk.

“It’ll be a quick thing. Get going short before dusk, clear the target location by night, rest in a safehouse for an hour or two. If you leave Cambridge again before dawn, you should be fine. You know the vertibirds usually don’t fly up the north-western part of the Commonwealth, especially not by night. What do you say?”

“Whatever you need from me, Paladin.” He replies and she smiles at him using her new title - His old title - It’s a bittersweet promotion. But Danse is proud of his former protégée, and receiving orders from her instead of giving them feels both strange and oddly familiar.

“Travel to Ticonderoga, use this chip card to enter the safehouse and take the elevator to the sixth floor.” Nora hesitates. “John will be your contact there.”

That crooked character again.

However, there is no time for a talk in confidence with her, and Danse tries to reassure himself that it isn’t necessary in the first place. When he turns to leave, Nora grabs him by the shoulder. “I know John runs his mouth a lot, but in his own twisted way, he means well. Try to keep that in mind… okay?”

 

John has the intel, Danse has the muscle, or the steel, rather. It’s not a bad set-up, Danse has to admit. But it’s not enough to overcome the feeling of unease working with that person.

John gives him an overview of the target location occupied by raiders, several turrets and a few tricky corners. Danse naturally falls into soldier mode and gives orders. “You stay here while I clear the perimeter.”

“I didn’t intent to get up close and personal with a raider tonight, but I'll stay on that roof over there and give you fire support.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Yeah alright big guy, you might not need it but I'm still gonna do it.”

“I'm not feeling comfortable with an untrustworthy stranger aiming his scope at me while I work.”

“Untrustworthy? Me? I am the embodiment of trustworthyfication. That’s a word. Also,” he presents his sniper rifle, “I'm an amazing marksman, and I will not shoot you just because you asked so nicely. And because of Nora's orders. Mainly Nora's orders, yeah.” Danse grunts dissatisfied.

“Look,” John tries to make this work, “I know you and I don't tango so well together, but if the boss tells me to look after you, I do that.”

Danse doesn't need any looking after, and he doubts that's how Nora phrased it, but other things are more important now. “Whatever the case may be, let's get moving to take advantage of the night’s cover.”

“Couldn't agree more,” John smirks.

 

They clear out the Raiders with success, John from afar taking care of the turrets, while Danse deals with the defending crew on site. After their work is done, they fall back to the safehouse for the rest of the short night.  
They quietly settle in, John tending the camp, while Danse, still tense from the mission, insists to be on the lookout. His power armor has gotten a few scratches, but nothing too serious he can't attend to once he has returned to base. For now, it's standing in a corner, a dark shadow looming in the dim light of the open hearth.

They don't talk. Danse settles near the window with his laser rifle by his side, John cheerily heating up some canned field rations over the hot flame. The smell of pork and beans well over to Danse, along with soft fiddle music from an old radio. He looks to the fireplace with a frown, for a moment assessing whether or not the scent and noise poses a potential threat of attracting unwanted company-- their eyes meet, it seems - Danse can't really tell with the dark sunglasses covering John's face - and unwillingly Danse copies the other man’s posture by relaxing just the tiniest bit.  
With two hot cans carefully lifted by the cooler top rim and two spoons carried in his back pocket, John walks over. It is only when Danse accepts his portion with a silent nod that he allows himself to notice how hungry he is.

“Dinner is ready, honey!” John cheers in the voice of some long lost commercial and sits down on a crate beside him. “Anything good on TV?” He nods to the window, carefully stirring the can placed on the sill, hot steam rising.

“No hostiles in sight, we seem to be clear.” Danse formally states.

“Good good, that's how I like my candle light dinners, with all hostiles cleared.” 

“Besides all personal differences between you and me, I have to admit you did an excellent job tonight. Without your sharpshooting skill my power armor might have endured some more severe damage.”

“Aww, ‘personal differences’, c’mooon. We’re basically best pals.” He makes a face that doesn't let on in the least that he's clearly talking bullshit. “But I got to admit, that’s unexpected! An honest to god compliment from the Paladin himself. I feel humbled.”

“I know you don't need my approval, but if Nora decides for us to run more missions together, it is only expedient to establish a certain level of understanding.”

“Nora, heh? Why don't you run ops with her?”

“I do whatever she deems the most efficient, her instincts are impeccable.”

John sighs and leans back. “You know, it's not good for you to follow her around like a puppy.”

“I'm not- how can you dare say that!”

“Look Danse, I know you don't like it, but I can read people. And you classify as people, Synth or not.”

Danse's left eye twitches as he hears the word Synth.

“What you've done is simply swapping the Brotherhood for Nora. Which is a teeny weeny bit of an improvement given that Nora doesn't want to go on an all encompassing extermination cruise through the Commonwealth. But-”, he shift his head a little, mustering Danse, “you're still looking to someone else for all the answers.”

“And of course you know the answers all by yourself!” Danse shouts, sounding more agitated than he’d like to.

“No, I don't.” Deacon seems curiously earnest. “But I don't lay all my eggs in one basket, if you catch my drift.” I don't lay any eggs anywhere-- he thinks and grins at this own stupid metaphor.

“Stop it. I won't be manipulated by you.” Danse turns away, looking out of the window wishing for some bug or critter for him to shoot.

 

John’s words follow Danse as he dozes off for a short rest before heading back to Sanctuary. Nora is a model soldier and a good friend, the only one he ever felt he could open up to-- both before and during the Brotherhood. Her friendship gives him purpose, a reason to go on. They are open with each other, honest and direct. He will always be thankful for what she did for him, for how she stood by him and became his most valuable confidant.

His _sole_ confidant.

He can rely on her--  
Maybe her relies on her a little too much?  
Doesn't he actually depend on her more than he's realized?  
In those first cursed days after he learned the truth, she was the only thing keeping him alive.

_“If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do”_

He said that to her. Danse winces at the thought.

How could he put so much pressure on her?

How come he needed some impudent person to point this out to him?


	4. Preston Garvey, Minuteman

Late the next morning, Danse returns alone to Sanctuary. John disappears early at dawn somewhere along the route with a quick nod and a joke about having to steal candy from sleeping children. There’s no way on earth Danse cares about that right now, he’s looking forward to catch up on some sleep in his bunk after a good night’s work.

How great it felt to leave the settlement for the first time! A clean mission, hitting the enemy fast and hard, zero complications. Outstanding.

On his way to the power armor station he passes by Preston who is busy at the weapon’s workbench, tinkering on his laser musket. “Garvey, hello. Is Nora present?”

“Oh, hello. No, she went to another settlement just this morning. Your mission has been successful?”

“Affirmative. We secured the road in question. I’ll see myself to my quarters if you don’t need anything urgent.”

“No, yes, sure.”

 

Preston marvels as he sees Danse put away the power armor and walk over to his sleeping place-- The former Paladin seems somewhat different. Danse is returning from a mission that must have been tiring; travelling and staying up all night, fighting and putting up with ‘John’ on top of it. And even though he looks exhausted, he also looks kind of... invigorated, if that makes sense? As straining as the action must have been, Danse seems now more than ever like a man who is in his element and knows he’s good at what he’s doing. Sure, the ex-Paladin did an amazing job with the turrets, but he never seemed genuinely satisfied about his work.

Danse stays in his quarters all day, and only comes out when the sun is already setting. The air in Sanctuary is as clear and as peaceful as it gets in the wastelands, the background noise filled with mundane sounds like the water pump creaking and occasionally some hammering from the makeshift garage.

With dry crumbly bark, some frail sticks, and a scuffed flip lighter, it’s Preston who kindles a small flame in the fireplace. He notices Danse not until he’s quite close.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Preston smiles as he looks up.

Danse still seems a little bit dazed. “Not at all.” He sits down next to the fire at the place where he usually sits, not quite opposite of Preston.

“You seem to enjoy lighting the campfire every evening.”

“I guess I do. You have a keen observation to notice.”

“I see it as my job to make sure that everyone in the settlement is getting their needs met.”

Danse nods, staring into the timid flames. Slowly growing, they call for more fuel. Preston notices it too and they both simultaneously reach for the pile of firewood.

“You can-”

“No, you, please.”

Preston chuckles. Danse smiles a small smile and begins to feed the flames.

“You did a great job with those defenses.” Preston tries to keep the conversation going.

“We’ve had some bloodbugs yesterday and they didn’t last a single second. Thank you again, you’re a big help.”

“Not a problem. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you need anything. In fact,” Danse nods at Preston’s laser musket he carries everywhere, “I can help you with modifications if you want. I have modified a great number of various laser weapons with all kinds of utilities.”

“Yeah? Guess you never modded quite a weapon like this.” Preston picks up the musket.

“True. I’ve never seen one with this kind of configuration. Solid wood even. Doesn’t it increase the weight too much?”

“Not really.” Preston closes in enough to hand over the weapon.

Danse weighs the musket in both hands, nodding in acknowledgement. “That’s at least double the weight of a Brotherhood standard rifle. Don’t you get tired carrying this around on patrol?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Impressive.” Danse concedes, examining the musket. “Nice work on the barrel. And the recoil reduction must be pretty smooth. Not sure I’d personally like the clip size, only six cells and the crank after every shot seems quite limiting.”

“Makes every shot count.”

Danse nods and returns the weapon. “I’d suggest a light aluminum frame, steadies your aim.”

“Maybe. But I’ve grown quite attached to this Ol’ Gun. Nothing like knowing your weapon through and through as if it were an extension of yourself.”

“That is definitely true. The muscle memory of wielding one’s personal weapon is invaluable out in the field,” Danse says and feeds the fire more wood logs. Preston smiles and watches the flames grow.

Danse notices Preston’s expression. “Did I say something amusing?”

“No, it’s just nice to have a conversation.”

“Ah…”

“When you first came here, you didn’t appear… keen to become a part of our little community. Not really. Now don’t get me wrong, you help us a lot.”

“Oh. Yeah. You might be right.” Danse dryly agrees.

“I’m glad that that seems to have changed.” Preston offers him another smile.

Before Danse can answer, his stomach growls loudly. Preston can’t help but chuckle, Danse laughs along a bit embarrassed.

“I’ll go find some ingredients in the pantry and start cooking,” Preston looks amused and gets up.

“That’s not necessary, Codsworth will be displeased.”

“Codsworth is displeased if he has to cook and if he hasn't… he thrives on his own dissatisfaction.”

Danse laughs. “That seems like a fair assessment!”

Preston beams at him.

“What?” Danse asks.

“You’re laughing! That’s the first time I’ve seen you do that since you arrived here. I’m glad you’re finally warming up to this place.”

-

 

“Mr Garvey, I am appalled to see you cook your own dinner.” It’s Codsworth.

“No problem. I was hungry and started early.” Preston explains.

“Are you positively certain there is nothing wrong with my cooking skills? If that’s the case, please do say so. 200 years without software update leave oneself doubting.”

“It’s okay Codsworth, don’t worry.”

“All right, then I’ll just be here. And do nothing.” Codsworth would pout if he could, shooting a somewhat accusing look at Danse who is busy as per Preston’s assignment to unhusk beans. 

“Actually,” Sturges interjects who had been following the conversation from afar, “I could use some help cleaning up the shop if you don’t mind.”

“With pleasure, Mr Sturges!” Codsworth chirps and is whooshing over to the next building.

“Thank you.” Preston sounds relieved as the robot disappears.

“Won’t keep him busy for long since I already cleaned up most of it myself.” Sturges gives Danse a quick nod, sits down and lights a cigarette. “So whatcha cookin’ up in there, Pres?” 

“Slit beans, some tatos and corn.”

“Sounds delicious. Lemme give you a hand with that,” he scoots over to Danse to reach the bowls in front of him. Beans in one bowl, husks in the other. “So, that power generator,” Sturges speaks, the cigarette tipping up and down between his lips, “I think it’s finally coming together and we can electrify the rest of the houses. Perhaps we can even discard Old Smokey, t’was producing more stink than electricity anyway- What?”

Preston can’t hide his huge grin as he’s watching the two hunched over men peeling legumes. “Nothing,” he says in chipper tone.

“Now look at him laughing at us while we do all the hard work,” Sturges giving his best fake-offended impression.

“He’s been smiling all evening.” Danse dares to tease, looking at Preston.

“Yeah, really?” Sturges perks up, looking at the Minuteman who now seems amused and a little embarrassed at once, eagerly stirring the pot. “Now is that so? Something good happened you wanna share?”

“I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Alright, alright.” Sturges gets up and flicks the stump of his cigarette into the campfire. “Do you need more tatos? I’m gonna fetch a few more. Marcy said some are going overripe.”

Danse shakes his head and chuckles, peeling the last few beans. “What?” Preston asks a little bit unsure.

“It’s nothing of any concern.” Danse replies in a gentle voice, and gets up to pour the beans into the pot. “I am just in a good mood, that is all.”

 

\---

 

That night, new settlers arrive in Sanctuary and a little welcoming party is thrown for their welcome. Danse is not too fond of company and retreats to the garage right after dinner. Being around a loud and drunk crowd is just not what he needs tonight.

There’s not much to do in the garage. The light is too dim, maybe installing proper illumination could be his next project, and his power armor is top shape anyway. 

Singing and laughter sounds over from the campfire.

After a while Preston comes over to find a Danse who seems to have sorted the workshop’s whole arsenal of tools and is now fixing non-existent flaws on his power armor.  
“Hey there, workaholic.” Preston is leaning on the garage wall, two opened bottles of beer in his hand. “If you carry on like that you’ll polish a hole in your suit.” His smile is a little bit tipsy and his hat is off just the slightest bit, the unkempt details contrasting his otherwise neat as usual look.

“I am finished now anyway.” Danse retorts as if he has to defend his anti-social behavior, and instantly regrets it given Preston is being so nice as to check on him. Preston doesn’t seem to mind and offers him the gratefully accepted drink.

“I was wondering if you wanted to join us? Over there?”

The group over at the campfire guffaws at something.

“I prefer a more tranquil time tonight.” 

“Yeah, I get it-” Preston makes a move to leave Danse alone, then reconsiders and turns back. “Do you mind some company? In your, uh, tranquility?”

Danse smiles. “I do not.” 

They sit on a bench behind the garage, the river dark in the distance.  
“So. How do you like it, Sanctuary Hills?” Preston asks.

Danse lets the question sink in and takes a swig from the bottle. “It is a fine settlement.”

“But is it home?”

“As much as it can be.”

Preston nods. “I’ve been thinking… why don’t you go on a mission with me?”


	5. Garden of Robots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minuteman, Paladin, and Gardening!

Danse is excited by Preston’s proposal to go on a mission together. Leaving the settlement seems like a welcome change. If he is honest with himself, staying in Sanctuary Hill gave him worse cabin fever than being cooped up on the Prydwen sometimes, or even down in Listening Post Bravo. And apart from that, he looks forward to work together with Preston.

Their designation is Graygarden, an all-robots hydroponics facility. The idea is as simple as ambitious-- Impressed by the artillery at the Castle, Nora suggested to build more of them, specifically in the area surrounding Cambridge. It’s not clear yet how deep underground the Institute really is, Nora is trying to gather information on that, but if armed with nuclear warheads a bombardment with half a dozen cannons might just be enough. Ironic to use atomic weaponry to solve a problem created by scientist who invented it in the first place, but so far that’s the best shot they have.

Preston advised to stay clear off the junkyard right north of the settlement. He said the Children of Atom liked to use it as a base and were always quite irritable towards trespassers. These folks usually lived out in the Glowing Sea not bothering anybody, and Preston found it regrettable whenever he was forced to kill one of them for they didn’t seem to look for confrontation but felt easily threatened by any other wastelander.

Instead, they walk through the Rocky Narrows Park, a place with it’s very own dangers for that it’s a preferred mating place of Yao Guais. They pass by the mauled remains of a Brahmin and think themselves lucky that the residing beast already satisfied its hunger.

It’s not like Danse doesn’t know this corner of the Commonwealth. In fact, the Cambridge Police Station where him and his squad made base is just a short hike down the hill.

When they arrive, several Mister Handys are busy tending to the mutfruits outside. Supervisor Greene welcomes them in his usual habit of sounding like a game show host. They go to Supervisor White in the greenhouse and inform her they’re about to begin their building measures.

“Of course darling, I’ve been informed. The materials you are looking for are sitting behind the greenhouse. Don't step on the carrots, would you.”

As Danse and Preston go outside the door, they see the material. Two massive cannon barrels salvaged from the Castle and transported here under no doubt laborious circumstances, as well as dozens and dozens bags of cement await them.

“Quite the project you have here.” Danse sounds a little bit skeptical.

“Yeah, I’m always surprised at how big these guns actually are, but,” Preston turns to him, trying to dissuade any doubts the ex-Paladin might have towards the Minutemen, “we managed to get them here, we’ll manage to set them up. You should see the artillery at the Castle, it’s quite impressive.”

No arguing about that.

“Then let’s get to work. I’m glad you came along!” Preston bumps the metal shoulder of Danse’s power armor with his fist as he goes to find the needed tools.

They quickly come to a consensus where to build the foundation of the artillery. Only the spot up on the hill strategically qualifies for that, with the highway blocking the line of fire from anywhere lower. They only have simple tools to excavate the area, Preston is busy with keeping the robots out of their way who buzz around them from time to time while Danse does most of the digging with support of his power armor.

They only stop when daylight becomes too dim to see anything. They retreat to Graygarden homestead for the night with lots of fresh vegetables from Supervisor Greene.

“Feels weird being around robots all day, doesn't it?” Preston asks as they both settle in, Danse doing some maintenance on his suit.

“I’m glad you took it on you to deal with them. Those things can be really annoying.”

“They’re not usually around humans, I think they were just excited?”

Humans. “Yeah.” Danse flatly answers.

They each silently work on their task at hand, Preston sorting through the vegetable, Danse cleaning sand and and soil from the joints of his suit.

“Do you want to start the fire?” Preston asks.

“It’s alright, go ahead.” Danse smiles, not expecting so much consideration. “I only do it in Sanctuary to balance out the stress.”

“And you’re not stressed here?”

“I find myself quite relaxed today, despite the hard work.” Danse can see Preston nod, looking like he wanted to say something. Instead, he starts a fire in the kitchen stove.

“You know, back when Nora started to go on ops with you… I was skeptical. She wholeheartedly believes that everybody deserves a life in the Commonwealth-- don’t get me wrong, but I couldn’t see why she would keep someone around who disagreed quite vehemently.”

“The Brotherhood is doing what they do to protect mankind. You realize that, Garvey?”

“Yeah, but somewhere along the line they must’ve taken the wrong turn, or they wouldn’t have lost you.”

Danse pauses tinkering on his armor unseen by the other man who’s working with his back to him. “That’s one way of seeing it.” 

“In any case, she wasn’t wrong about you after all. I think she saw something in you I couldn’t see.”

“And what did you see?”

Preston turns to face Danse while thinking for the right words. “A pompos, self-absorbed zealot of erroneous justice.”

Danse looks at him for a moment, then bursts into laughter, Preston joining him as he realizes it’s heartfelt amusement. “Yeah, I guess that’s what it looks like from the outside.” He continues talking more factually, “my perspective on things… has changed, but I still believe in the Brotherhood. I want you to know that. I would have stayed if I had had the chance. I would have tried to change the Brotherhood from within.”

Preston looks at the man mostly hidden by the power armor standing in front of him. “Yeah. I get that.” He finally replies. “I would have tried the same with the Minutemen if I had had the chance.”

 

The next day, there is more hard work to be done. The sun is unusually hot, and the air feels like it was static with radiation. Work goes slow, and even the robots seem to be cranky over the weather, seemingly making all creatures and even robots of the Commonwealth more irritable. In these temperatures Danse is glad he doesn’t need the helmet to excavate the foundation and leaves it sitting on the ground.

When Danse begins digging deeper into the earth, the ground starts giving in. His leg sinks in, he shouts at Preston. Molerats are bursting through the ground. Suddenly shots are fired, it's Preston. Danse fends one rat off with a punch, unable to move he can’t reach his laser rifle at the rim of the pit. Quick-thinking, Preston hits one of the rats with the butt of his musket, hurling the creature against Danse’s rifle to catapult it into the pit. Now, more laser shots are fired, but ceaselessly agitated molerats spawn from the ground. Preston stops dead in his tracks when he hears the deadly peeping sound of an explosive molerat behind him. Without much thinking, he throws a grenade over his shoulder and dives into the pit next to Danse. The explosions go off, Danse’s Geiger counter peaks for a moment, earth, sticks and stones rumble back to the ground. Then, it turns silent. No more rats spawn.

Preston and Danse share a quick look that tells them they’re both unharmed. It takes a little bit of effort, but together they manage to free Danse from the crumbly ground. Still panting, Preston sits down at the ground to catch his breath.

Danse looks over the rim of the pit to see the huge crater the exploding molerat caused. “Well, that’s a lot faster than digging.” Danse turns to Preston who’s beating the dirt from his clothes. “Fast thinking there, Garvey.”

He laughs under his breath. “Preston.” He says, while accepting Danse’s hand to get up.  
“Preston.” He repeats with a smile.

The hum of an engine in the distance, closing in. Before Preston can say anything, Danse reaches for his helmet, covering his face just in time as the Vertibird comes into view.

 

Dammit, Preston curses internally, dammit dammit.

The Brotherhood is the last thing they need.

The Vertibird flies a curve, one pilot and at least three knights staring down at them, the mounted minigun aimed at them in a dark promise. A trigger happy bunch of self-righteous militarists, approaching to land.

Dammit.

Preston’s heart stops for a second, searching for Danse’s face-- his reaction impossible to read under the power armor helmet. Thank God.

“Let me handle this, don’t say a word.” Preston’s step is firm as he slowly approaches the landing party, lifting his arms and holding his musket by the barrel to show he doesn’t intend any harm.

“What is going on here, civilian?” One of the knights, sans power armor helmet, demands to know, two more Knights in full armor behind him, weapons safety off.

“Some molerats giving us trouble. Why are you here-” Preston replies in a diplomatic tone.

“I’m asking the questions here.” The Knight interrupts him. “What is that?” He bellows.  
Preston reluctantly turns to where he’s pointing.

“Artillery. Of the Minutemen.”

“Minutemen?” He spits out. “Since when do the Minutemen have access to power armor?”

The arrogant question hits Preston personally. Power armor had been in their arsenal before Quincy-- it only changed after that. “For quite a while now, Sir.” Preston forces back his disdain as much as he can, not entirely succeeding.

“Oh yeah? Let me take a look at this ‘Minutemen’ power armor, it’s different.” The Knight takes a few steps forward, looking at Danse who’s standing a few feet behind Preston.

“It’s none of your business.” Preston states in a firm voice. “We don’t want any trouble with the Brotherhood.” He adds, his mouth dry, thinking of Danse, the unnecessary risk they took--

“Artillery and heavily armed forces in Commonwealth very much are the business of the Brotherhood. You civilians can’t be trusted with that kind of firepower. Hereby, this land and that power armor are seized for the Brotherhood. You may keep your lousy laser musket.” He exclaims and nods at them in a way of telling them to get lost. Behind him, Preston can hear some metal clicking as if Danse was tightening the grip on his rifle. Three power armors against one, three BOS knights against the two of them--  
The odds don’t look so well-

Dammit, think fast!

The knight steps past Preston towards Danse. “You! Get outta there! That suit now is rightfully belongs to the Brotherhood!”

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

The knight swiftly turns back to Preston, the soldier's face an angry grimace. “You dare talk to me like that? Every enemy of the Brotherhood is an enemy of humanity and needs to die!” Power armors on both sides moving, suddenly gun barrels aimed, one of them belonging to Danse, the helmet-less knight in target.

“I wonder what Paladin Nora would say if she saw all this. A knight of the Brotherhood stealing her own private property she needs to fight the Institute.”

“Paladin Nora!” The knight bellows. “How do you know her? Are you her Minuteman valet who thinks can safe the Commonwealth?!”

“I am Preston Garvey, and as you should know, Nora is our General. She does not like if someone messes with her plans.”

“That wretched-- I see. That _wastelander_ is behind all this. Let’s see what Elder Maxson has to say if he learns his new favorite is keeping valuable technology from the Brotherhood. And with that, I don’t mean those rusty toy guns.” He spits at the artillery cannons. “That X-01 suit has no business not being in the Brotherhood’s arsenal.” He closes in to Preston. “We’ll see again, _Garvey_.”

They leave, they finally leave, everybody's alive, it’s alright.

It’s alright.

Preston knees shake a little as the Vertibird finally disappears behind the Highway. He hears a thud and the low stomping of Danse’s heavy steps moving towards him. “That was close, huh?” Preston sighs in relief, only to be met by a dark scornful frown, hatred almost in Danse’s face. 

“That was Knight Rhys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert something deep involving the garden of gods and its robotic tenders here.


	6. Off Rails, On Track

As soon as possible and in the cover of the dark, they’re on the way to Sanctuary Hills. They can’t risk another encounter with the Brotherhood. The sky is clear and starry, the night air is cool and crisp, contrasting the heat of the day.

Preston cautiously eyes Danse from the side. He hasn’t said a word on their way up north, and remains silent even as they arrive at base and settle in for the night. Preston frowns, worried whether or not to say something. He’s not entirely sure what is going on in the other man’s head, but being at gunpoint of your former colleagues that probably were like family to Danse sure doesn’t feel great. That much Preston knows from experience.

Morning comes, and Preston hears from afar someone tinkering on the turrets, the suit of power armor already meticulously cleaned in its station. The former Paladin can’t have gotten much sleep last night.

“Hi there.” A voice from nowhere, but definitely too close-- Preston spins around to find Deacon, perched up on a scaffolding.

“One of these days I’m gonna shoot you, Deacon.”

“John! It’s John. Why can’t you ever remember that?” Deacon smirks and slides down the planks less gracefully than he intended to.

“Fine, _John_. To what occasion do I owe today’s heartattack?”

“The big boy got into trouble? Give me the deets.”

“How the heck do you know that? It happened just yesterday.”

“I may or may not have been on the lookout. Near Cambridge. On a Highway. Specifically one with excellent view over a certain Police Station. Birdwatching some Vertis.”

“You were there?!” Preston bursts out, shuffling his body weight to suppress emotion and prevent a regrettable reaction. “We could’ve used some _help_ , you know. If things had went bad--”

“Yeah well, they didn’t, did they? You were the amazing diplomat that you are, and I could keep my cover. After all, I’ve just furnished that cozy little sniper nest up there. A bit too high up for my taste, but apart from that-- Everybody happy.”

Preston frowns angrily, but Deacon is right. Fire support wouldn’t have been helpful for a peaceful solution. In case of a fight Preston knows Deacon would have taken down one or two of the knights without hesitation. “It was a close call…”

“Yeah man, I know. I’m glad you two made it outta there. Our Paladin sure acted like he’d go berserk any second.”

Preston sighs, staring at the ground while he recalls the events of that day. “He knew that knight. The one who threatened us. Rhys, I think.”

“That hothead? Makes sense. That guy was in the same squad when they first arrived in the Commonwealth. Charming personality from what I hear.”

“That must have been tough for Danse. He looked so angry. Almost hateful.”

“That little shit must’ve violated Danse’s personal code of honor. The Brotherhood seizing property from strangers is a-ok, but if tin boy’s best pal becomes a target, it’s suddenly no fun anymore.”

“How the heck would you know that?”

Instead of answering, Deacon clicks his tongue, points fingerguns at Preston and leaves.  
Preston shakes his head and is about to finally get some breakfast when he sees Deacon commit a huge mistake: Diving right into small talk with Danse.

Some nonsense talk, mundane subjects, a few silly jokes.

“John, what the heck do you even want?” Danse finally asks, very obviously not in the mood for whatever John is trying to do.

“My Paladin, I want to have a good time,” John replies plainly. “With you, you know.” 

“With me?” Danse repeats, needing time to mentally catch up to what the other man just said.

“Yeah, You.”

Danse musters him trying to determine which kind of game John is playing this time. “And what do you suppose we do?”

“Are you seriously asking me how to enjoy yourself?”

 

\---

 

Danse is not entirely sure what he is doing here in that godforsaken cesspool of a ‘bar’ in Goodneighbor and how John managed to make him agree to this endeavor.

That’s not true.

He knows exactly what lured him out. ‘Ditch the power armor’, John said, ‘ditch the power armor and go recon with me.’ A folly to suggest, an even greater folly to agree, but-- The alternative was staying in Sanctuary, unable to leave, unable to make himself useful. Danse’s protective layer turns out to be a risk. Only without it he can stay below the Brotherhood’s radar who’s in search to confiscate power armor for their arsenal. Danse swapped it for a cheap disguise, ridiculously thin leather padding and casual wear. 

It feels wrong and too light.

John has disappeared for ‘just for a sec’ quite a while ago; much too long for a pee break, perhaps some hook up-- Danse has no way of knowing. But nursing his by now lukewarm beer is getting old. Some fine Liquor would be nice, and he knows the bartender has a couple of not too shabby bottles for Goodneighbor standards. However, he is not going to touch any of the high percentage alcohol before he doesn’t know what the evening is yet to bring. John may be the type with the right mixture of charisma and gall to talk his way out of a lot of potentially fatal situations, but Danse wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a trouble magnet also. The better option is to stay clear headed until he's certain his companion doesn't bring any homework with him.

His _absentee_ companion, that is.

The bar is not exactly crowded, but is still housing quite a few of other patrons. Several of them are ghouls, Danse notices. No Brotherhood soldier would ever set foot in such an establishment, that much is for sure. He passed through here once with Nora on their travel accross the Commonwealth, fighting the good fight for the Brotherhood-- His grip on the beer bottle tightens to counter the heavy pressure building up in his chest.

Taking good care of his subordinates has always been Danse’s most honored duty, but now--  
Rhys has been under his command ever since his days as an Aspirant. With great care, Danse tried to teach him the way of the Brotherhood, tried to channel his zeal into productive outlets, but-- Knight Rhys never quite valued certain elements of the Brotherhood ideals, and understood other aspects a little too eagerly. 

The result of failed guidance.

Not that it would matter now.

 

Magnolia whispers the next song into the microphone, the sound gently filling the void. She’s not too bad. Quite talented actually. Live music is far too rare these days-- yet another longing song about unattainable love and heartbreak.

Danse sighs.

If Danse knows what he’s enjoying, he also knows what he’s not enjoying. Sitting alone in a bar in goddamn Goodneighbor of all places is definitely one of the latter. John dragged him there and now he’s gone. So much for _‘I want to have a good time with you’_. Probably it’s all been some twisted joke to begin with.

Danse decides to finish his beer and leaves. Being alone in a hotel room sounds more fun than this, even if it’s a shabby shack like the Hotel Redford. Outside, the summer air is sitting heavy between the buildings. As Danse walks accross the street to the hotel, part of him hopes John would miraculously turn up.

He doesn’t.

There are only neighborhood watchmen side-eyeing Danse as he passes, and drug dealers praising their wares. Danse is disgusted, he’s already looking forward to leave this place again tomorrow. The hotel reception is vacated, as one would expect to this late an hour. Not a soul to be seen even after ringing the bell.

Danse sighs again. What a ruined evening. He wanted to book a place to sleep right when they arrived, but John stopped him, saying it was a waste of caps, claimed to have a better place to crash. And now Danse is stranded here with no John, no bed, and definitely no fun.

Leaning on the counter with his elbows, he rubs his temples. 

“There you are!” John bursts through the door, gasping as if he was shocked to see Danse. “You almost had me worried you got stolen like a pocket watch, or even worse, that you booked a hooker.”

“Where have you been?” Danse is slowly turning around, feeling more tired with every passing minute.

“You mean all your life?” He smiles a dirty enough smile and walks up to Danse. “C’mon, let’s go. Tonight's a drinking night.”

“After you’ve let me wait all evening? Most definitely not. You said not to worry about a place to sleep, but as you can see there’s nobody here to rent us rooms. Tell me, where did you intend for us to stay?”

“About that… how about I tell you everything you wanna know with a nice cold Gwinnet Stout in your hand. Or Vodka, if you prefer. My treat.”

“I’m not going back in that hole. It is late and we have a long way ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Listen Danse, I am sorry. It turned out the quick gig wasn’t so quick after all. Let me make up for it, alright? You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“How come I believe you even less when you promise something.”

“Low expectations make for tons of good surprises.”

A deep sigh from Danse. “Fine. But only if you buy something to eat as well. I am starving.”

“Alright alright!” Deacon cheers “That’s fair.”

 

Things are much better with corn snacks and a tasty drink. Danse made John buy some of the high class Liquor. It's a delight.

“So tell me, where do you intend for us to stay the night.”

“Justified question! Let’s just say, the friend I usually stay at is not an option tonight. Buuut the silver lining of it all is, we get to sleep in the Memory Den! They have the more comfortable mattresses anyway.”

“You have connections in the Memory Den?” Danse musters him.

“Yep.”

“Suspicious. I'll let it slide if you pay the room?”

“Of course I pay! I don't spare a cap for my new best pal!”

Danse shakes his head in mild amusement.

“You seem to have a little bit of fun after all. I am relieved.” John grins.

“Heh. Who would have thought a proper beverage, sustenance and some company could make things better?” Danse jokes.

“I feel flattered.”

“Your company is better than no company.”

“Actually, when people get to know me better, they wish they hadn't.”

Danse falls silent. Other than most people, John knows Danse’s secret and curiously hasn’t used that knowledge against him.

“Why do you spend time with me?”

“Ohh, c’mon Danse. The night’s too young to turn into depressed hang over talk just yet.” Demonstratively, he takes a swig from his vodka. Danse seems not in the least dissuaded though, and John shifts gears. He sits up and turns to the other man like a kid confessing their misbehavior to an adult. “All right, I hang with you cuz I want secret Brotherhood intel. Do tell me, if the ‘hood wanted to infiltrate, say, a secret underground hideout beneath a ghoul-riddled church, how’d’dey proceed?”

Danse lifts an eyebrow and musters the more and more drunk man. “That’s awfully specific.”

“Yep!” John slurs, reaching for his glass.

“Alright, I’m gonna play.” Danse smirks and takes a bis swig of liquor. The game goes back and forth several times, John asking about increasingly improbable scenarios, Danse explaining Brotherhood tactics in meticulous detail, making sure to emphasize proper procedure. “A molerat wearing an oversized party hat-- Of at least 12.5 inches in height-- Is officially denominated a Non-Human Hostile Critter Class 2, or NHHCC,” Danse makes a throaty noise as if he was trying to read the letters as a word, John giggles so hard he almost falls off the bar stool, “which, naturally, demands for a Scribe to be on site. And take a tissue sample. Buuut! If the rat loses the hat before it dies, it reverts back to Class 1. And Standard Extermination Protocol CP turns effective. Easy!” Danse empties his glass, cheeks glowing, and savors the taste of the wonderfully sweet liquor he just never grows tired of.

“I didn’t know!” John is trying to catch his breath in between uncontrollable giggles, “the Brotherhood’s not only hoarding technology! But also! The collected comedy gold of the wasteland!”

 

\---

 

When they head to the Memory Den short before morning, Danse is elated and light-headed like he hasn’t been in a very long time. They go upstairs via a service corridor and finally reach a surprisingly spacious room with an actual double bed, real mattresses. There is no light except for a dim lightbulb in the corner covered by a stained lamp shade. 

John goes straight for the mattress and flops down on the bed, murmuring into the cushions. “So soooft!” 

In contrast, Danse unbuckles his light leather armor and orderly piles the pieces on a chair next to the bed, humming a soft tune while doing so. John secretly peeks at him from the corner of his eye, uncovered by the slipped sunglasses. He feels drunk and serene, a peacefulness spiked with anxiety for flavor. It’s surreal how domestic this situation feels. Almost threateningly so.

“That’s what normalcy must feel like.”

Danse chuckles lightly and resumes to humming and undressing. The air is stuffy and warm, there’s no need to sleep in full clothes. Neither of the two thinks anything of it, it’s not like in the wasteland anybody can afford the luxury of prudery. Danse keeps the boxers, stores his pistol within reach just in case, and turns to the bed. “I don’t know about you, but sleeping drunk in a bed with- oh this is really soft,” he says as he crawls on the mattress, “but, sleeping drunk in a bed with a man I barely know doesn’t exactly qualify as ‘normalcy’ to me.” He smiles a tipsy smile. It’s not like he minds the situation. The bed is everything John promised, no complaints there.

“I want to be your friend.” John blurts out.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

They both lie on their sides, turned to each other. John’s face carefully hidden behind his glasses.

“I’m not even human.”

“I’d slap you for that, but I hate touching people. So please feel slapped in the face, right here,” he says, pinching Danse’s cheek in a touch that belies his words. Danse lets it happen, and it only lasts a moment before John retreats his hand. “You deserve a second chance. Everybody does.”

Danse nods slightly, searching the other man’s face. “What about you?”

“I’m living my best of life, really.” _Liar_.

“Is that _‘John the ice cream vendor’_ persona your second chance?”

John chuckles, and would enjoy the joke much more if that question wouldn’t make him feel slightly nervous. That tin man is good. “I’m this and that, whatever I need to be. How come you trust Nora so much when she didn’t tell you a single thing about me?”

“She told me you’re quirky and annoying, and that I need a lot of patience with your mischievous nature, but that you mean well deep down in your heart.”

John bursts into laughter. “A few of those things might be true. A little. I won’t say a single word without my lawyer.” 

“Nora _is_ your lawyer!” Danse joins him laughing. “But…” He moves his hand as if to reach for something, but stops to retreat his hand under his head. He’s looking for words. “I trust she’s only keeping secrets from me in order to honor a promise she made to another valued friend.”

“Maybe…” John yawns sleepily to demonstrate his disinterest in the subject. “Hey, do you mind if we cuddle up tonight?”

“...what?”

Topic of conversation successfully avoided. A simple trick that almost always works- suggesting close physical contact.

For Deacon, the Railroad agent, this night has a now-or-never kind of feeling. Sooner or later, when Danse finds out the truth about ‘John’, things will change irreversibly-- for the better or worse. Might as well risk something. “Yeah, I always dreamed of being held by big beary arms. In a non-creepy way though.”

“Is that some kind of sick joke?”

“It is, if you’re not into it.”

Danse can’t hide his reaction all. John watches his face wander between bafflement, serious consideration, and the disgust of being toyed with.

“It’s alright, nevermind.” John says and rolls around to face the wall. There is silence, and then some rustling behind him. A strong arm lightly reaches over John’s waist, too shy for a true embrace, Danse’s body only barely touching John’s back. “We can lay like this, if it’s not too warm for you.”

Deacon puts his glasses on the nightstand and snuggles up his back to the other man despite the warm air around them and the body heat between them.

“That’s perfect.” 

 

\---

 

Danse wakes up in the middle of the night like he usually does several times. It’s pitch black, warm, almost too warm. He can sense John still wrapped under his arm, breath evenly going in and out.

What a strange situation.

Somehow, he feels lonely holding him like this-- no, not lonely. It’s like he’s been craving a feeling like this for so long-- only now that he experiences it he realizes how painfully absent it was in his past.

Danse leans in to kiss John’s shoulder blade through the thin fabric of the shirt he’s still wearing. Danse smiles in the dark. It’s been so long since last time he kissed.

Still a wonderful sensation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaah
> 
> I hope this chapter makes sense cuz I made some last minute changes and didn't proofread again after that oops. also, I need beta readers. daymn I need friends


	7. Aftermath

“Preston, why are you here in Sanctuary? Aren’t you needed to construct the artillery?” Danse headed back to the settlement on his own after waking up alone, proving some serious stealth skills on John’s side for sneaking out without Danse noticing.

“I’m just staying here for a while. Taking a break, you know.” Preston seems profusely busy with untangling some old filaments.

“Excuse me if I am incorrect in my assessment, but you don’t strike me as the type of person who ‘takes a break’ when there’s important work to do. Is everything in order?”

“No need to worry, I’m fine.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

Preston looks at him and smiles. “Guess I got caught.”

 

Their little skirmish at Graygarden had consequences, Preston finally admits. The Brotherhood is giving the Minutemen a hard time every chance they get. Brotherhood soldiers hindering the militia on their travels, Vertibirds almost tipping the roofs of their supporting settlements, infantry passing by closer than they need to. Nothing serious has happened yet, largely due to the respective Minutemen staying calm and controlled in the face of superior numbers with superior equipment.

But even with all diplomacy from the Minutemen’s side, the Brotherhood seems just too eager to jump on any opportunity for confrontation. All in all though, the situation doesn’t give Preston the impression that there are any official orders to turn on the Minutemen. He knows they have always been viewed with a certain condescension inside the Brotherhood, and them acquiring big weapons must have upset some of the Knights who see themselves as the sole saviors of the wasteland.

For now, all plans to work on the artillery are suspended, Preston has decided not to show his face around too much until the situation has cooled off a little. As it stands, the risk of providing an opening is just too great.

Danse’s face is like stone as he listens to all of this. 

“I am sorry for endangering you like this by bringing you on this mission.” Preston apologizes.

“It was my choice. I was aware my presence could draw unwanted attention.”

“It wasn’t you. The artillery drew them-- and that grenade I threw.”

“They weren’t after some rusty old cannons, Garvey. They wanted my power armor, it almost got us both killed.”

Preston frowns. “You blame yourself too easily. They were out looking for trouble-- not everything is about you.”

Danse looks taken aback, then finally finds words. “You're right, I'm sorry. I should thank you for diffusing that situation. So, thank you. Perhaps you do make a valid point.” Danse concedes.

“‘Course I do.” Preston doesn’t skip a beat, a small smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. “So.” He touches Danse friendly by the shoulder. “How about us two cooped up no-time-for-a-break types find a way to make ourselves useful?”

“Outstanding idea.”

 

\---

 

Days pass by faster than Danse even notices. Him and Preston are working on various projects together, expanding their knowledge, building prefabs for other settlements. There is simply no time to feel bored or useless. Preston teaches Danse how to construct basic water filter units with simple materials, a skill he picked up from Sturges back when they first arrived in Sanctuary Hills. In return, power armor modifications are Danse’s field of expertise, and Preston turns out to be a quick and eager study.

Hours go by with the two of them tinkering on the old rusty T-45 suit Nora salvaged from the roof of the Museum of Freedom. The suit got quite busted by a Deathclaw that very day back then, but is still salvageable. They pass the time either in a spirited exchange of questions and explanations, or in complete silence, each of them working on their own next to each other. 

It’s soothing.

Danse is surprised by how fast he gets used to working together with Preston. They share tools, knowledge, and an appreciative pat on the back after a day of hard but satisfying work. These days, the irradiated air of the wasteland seems fresher, somehow, and breathing feels to come easier. The sky shines in brighter colors, from light blue during the day to spectacular hues of orange and pink to deep lilac in the evening hours. Even Codsworth’s cooking tastes better.

These nights, Danse finds himself lying awake less often. When insomnia still comes to find him, a slow-paced stroll out on Sanctuary’s street has proven to be effective.

The sky is tinted black, dotted with sparkling stars, a faint glow visible in the south, the moon a delicate but bright crescent. Danse smiles to himself. The wasteland is supposed to be broken, and yet, he starts to find so much beauty in it.

From afar, he notices a person on the porch of the house in which Preston set up his quarters. It’s the Minuteman himself. He’s leaning on the handrail, standing, staring at the sky above him. Danse makes himself audible as he approaches for not to startle the other man.

“Danse.” His sleepy voice is soft and raspy at the same time.

“Can't sleep?”

“...no. Bad dreams.” Preston rubs his face, looking smaller and more vulnerable without his hat. “You know, sometimes when I look around, I wonder if I belong here,” Preston begins to talk again after a pause, “sometimes, I look at the people I led here, I think of those we lost along the way… men, women, even children. They all died because of decisions I made.”

Danse listens silently, looking at the night scenery without registering any of it.

“I know the odds were against us,” Preston continues, “and I shouldn't blame myself, but-… So many people died.” He fiddles with his folded hands before him. “It’s… so unfair. I know it sounds naive, but… if you try so hard, and then nightmare after nightmare just keeps coming to hit you- it makes you wonder if it’s really worth trying--” His posture crumbles and his voice starts to break, but he’s composing himself almost immediately. 

“Don’t do that.” Danse’s reaches his arm to pull Preston close, their adjacent shoulders now firmly pressed against each other. Preston eases into the touch, but doesn’t reply anything. For a long moment they stand calm like this. It’s not uncomfortable, far from it, but Danse feels the growing need to express the worries that make his heart beat run faster with every passing second. “I um-” Danse clears his throat lightly, for not to startle Preston whose head is by now resting near Danse’s collarbone. “One of my subordinates once taught me that close physical contact can be beneficial for a person in distress. I hope it’s working?”

Preston’s whole body gently shakes as he chuckles, a wonderful sensation against Danse’s chest. “The person in distress is feeling better.”

Danse lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I am glad to hear that,” he says smiling. “Do you mind if I share something personal with you?”

A soft hum answers to give Danse space to voice his thoughts.

“To be honest with you, it's difficult to see you fight so hard for composure. You shouldn’t have to. Not in front of me. My path has been different from yours, but I know how it feels to fight that battle. The feeling of self doubt. Of wanting to give up. Keeping up a front. It gets easier if you can confide in somebody you trust. I think what I am trying to say is, I’d feel honored to be a person you can trust.” Danse says, and means it, and feels the sharp blade of regret sinking into him at the same time-- having the gall to ask for trust when he can’t even bring himself to tell the truth about his own identity.

Preston turns in Danse’s arm, now standing heart to heart with him, their faces so close they can feel each other’s breath on their skin.

“I already trust you.” 

\---

The next morning, Danse wakes up feeling raw.

Memories of last night creep up to him-- how he basically hurried away right after their conversation. Embarrassing.

It’s almost as if he can still feel Preston’s body pressed against his chest, whispering to him like they were lovers-- Danse shakes his head to chase those thoughts away. They don’t matter anyway. What matters is that Preston offered him friendship, and Danse wants to become deserving to be his friend by finally telling him the truth about himself.

 

As usual, Danse gets up early and goes straight into the shop. When Preston joins him a while later, Danse greets him with a small awkward smile that is thankfully returned with a soft relaxed one. After that, things resume to normal and they tinker along in the garage for a few hours.

“How about we give this one a Minutemen paint job?” Danse suggests, pointing the at the old T-45 they refurbished all week.

Preston musters the suit from different angles to get a better picture. “I like the idea. But I guess that won’t stop the Brotherhood from seizing it if we use it?”

“No, but the fact that it looks like a substandard early model will. They have no clue about the top-notch tech we hid in there.” Danse proudly pats the armor of the suit.

“Then let’s do it! It’s been far too long since the Minutemen had power armor in their arsenal.” Preston beams with excitement.

Danse is infected by Preston’s enthusiasm and goes to find all the material they need, while Preston meticulously cuts out a stencil for the Minutemen logo. A militia musket crossed with a flash of lightning, Danse learns, representing the resolve of taking action and doing so on a short minute’s notice. The three stars arranged around signify the first large settlements in which the Commonwealth Minutemen found support and came into existence back in 2178: Boston, Cambridge and Quincy. Danse eagerly listens to the stories and history of the Minutemen Preston shares with him, and is interested to learn that the image of a ‘bunch of dirty armed farmers’ the Brotherhood likes to paint of them doesn’t hold up at all. Which shouldn’t come as the surprise it did, considering he passed by the Castle on a Vertibird several times and was honestly impressed by the resourcefulness the Minutemen displayed in rebuilding the fortress.

They’re not so different, Preston and him. They both cherish their own idealism. They believe in making a difference out there.

Preston seems perfectly joyful after applying the bright white logo on the dark blue coating of the suit.

“This will protect the people of the Commonwealth!”

“It looks positively fantastic.” Danse is just as delighted as Preston, and they decide to take a break in the garage. They relax lounged in patio chairs next to each other, allowing themselves the rare luxury of beer and snacks during the day. They share a moment of silent contentment, admiring the result of their teamwork.

Danse takes a swig from his Gwinnett stout and begins to talk first. “How many settlements support the Minutemen?”

“Hmm, must be a dozen by now if you count Hangman’s Alley we’re setting up right now.”

Danse nods in acknowledgement. There’s something he wants to know “What about that farm run by ghouls?”

“The Slog? Nora and I helped them install some basic defenses.” Danse is surprised to learn Preston is proud of having them support the Minutemen and that he wouldn’t be surprised to even see ghouls within their ranks. “We fight for their freedom too. That’s at least how I see it.”

“And synths?”

“As far as I can tell, they’re people like everyone else. Can’t argue that they don’t deserve the same freedom we do.”

“Do you have any synths with the Minutemen?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve never met a synth, I think. Apart from the older models, I mean. And Nick, obviously.”

“Don’t they creep you out?”

“No-- I don’t know. Think of those the Railroad rescues. They’re people just like you and me.” Preston shrugs. “I wouldn’t even know the difference. What about you?”   
Danse’s heart almost stop as if Preston had just asked him whether he was a synth or not. “You left the Brotherhood because you disagreed with them, right?”

“You could say that.” Danse shuffles, trying not to let on how cornered he feels.

“Bad subject?”

“No, not at all. You’re right. I disagreed with them and stood my ground. I expected to pay the price and be executed.” Danse speaks in detached formal voice.

“Damn. I’m sorry. That’s just wrong, to murder one of their own. I’m glad Nora was around to prevent that.”

Danse smiles a somber smile, then catches himself.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Preston softly speaks, reaching to cup Danse’s hand with his. “A good friend of mine told me not to fight the battle for composure too hard.”

Danse gently squeezes Preston’s hand in return.

“Garvey-- Preston. I have to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spill the beans already, Danse. it's not like anybody makes a big deal out of it except for u :p


	8. John Deacon, Ice Cream Vendor

It feels out of place, inappropriate.  
True, it’s power armor.  
But it’s the wrong model. And more importantly, it carries the Minutemen emblem.

It should be Preston’s honor to wear this suit with his head up high instead of Danse cowering inside it to hide his identity.

 

A lot happened in the past two weeks. Danse is now assigned to be John’s permanent companion until further notice. Travelling the wasteland on end, sometimes laying low, sitting, waiting, classic recon. Some other times he’s acting as a living shield for John when trouble is on the horizon, posing as a ‘big beautiful distraction’, as John put it with a delighted smile, looking forward to all the ‘opportunities to learn secrets moving around in your shadow’, like it was the best thing happen to him in years.

It all became necessary when Nora returned to Sanctuary Hills with bad news. Certain forces inside the Brotherhood have always disapproved of Nora as an outsider climbing the ranks so fast. So far it’s only been lower ranking soldiers that distrusted Nora, but since Elder Maxson heard of the events in Graygarden, he openly demands proof of her loyalty to make rumors stop. She could convince him the old Minutemen artillery was nothing the Brotherhood arsenal couldn’t easily outgun, but valuable technology like a rare X-01 power armor are a quite different story. Maxson believed her when she assured him that none of the Minutemen was in possession of a suit like this, but the sheer suspicion puts her on the spot. And all this while she has to deal with the Institute and keep them on their good side too.

Danse didn’t hesitate to offer his help. He was looking forward to field action anyway, even if stealth and recon aren’t exactly what he had in mind.

Travelling with John turned out to be quite different from what Danse expected. It’s not because of John’s odd preference for fiddle music, which he justifies with the excuse of the Minutemen supposedly hiding secret messages in their broadcast ( _“If the announcer claims it’s Preston’s birthday and they play Sixty Minute Man in his honor, it means shit hits the fan! True story.”_ ). It’s also not because one of them is in the habit of flying solo, while the other is used to work in a group and be in command; they’re both aware their styles are pretty much the opposite, and yes, it’s causing some friction here and there, but besides the usual banter that’s typical for the elusive man, their disposition on overall is calm and focused.

So far so good, but--

During their runs, they often stay at provisory shelter or in tiny hotel rooms. When they share the single mattress in the room, John either asks Danse to hold him like he did back in the Memory Den, or skips the chat altogether and wordlessly reaches over to wrap Danse’s arm around him. Danse doesn’t object. They never mention it during the day, and Danse marks it down in his head as yet another peculiar eccentricity of the other man. It’s like John has two faces, at least.

 

By now, they managed to successfully avoid any confrontation with Brotherhood forces, largely thanks to John’s extensive knowledge about shortcuts and hidden pathways. They only ran into the occasional skirmish that didn’t exactly qualify as entirely stealth and recon. The surface of the power armor is telling a story about their encounter with a group of raiders, a bunch of Gen2 synth troopers, and one Yao Guai they accidentially woke from its slumber. The front plates only show some minor wear and tear but are heavily scuffed, as Danse notices once they arrive in tonight’s safehouse. He traces the numerous shallow scratches on the chest piece, leaving chipped paint on his fingertips.

“We need to find a workshop on our way back.”

John glances up while setting up the camp. “Why? It’s just paint.”

“I’d be ashamed to return the suit in such condition to Preston. The emblem is barely visible.”

Danse recalls once more every instance the suit of power armor may have sustained even just miniscule damage. He shot several synths. The kind which are all metal and plastic, gauging staring eyes, robotic voices.  
Danse felt nothing destroying them.  
They are just machines after all. Aren’t they?

“I tried to tell Preston that I’m--” Danse stops to speak as suddenly as he began.

John perks up and offers what Danse interprets as John’s version of a caring facial expression.

“You didn't’ tell Preston yet?”

Danse shakes his head. “I started explaining, but Nora came back that day bringing the news about her threatened position within the Brotherhood. It was an unsuitable moment.”

John sighs a deep sigh. “Alright. Sit down. I’m going to help you.” John scoots over on the mattress, sitting cross-legged right in front of Danse. “Make it quick and easy. Imagine I’m Preston. Now look me in the eye and tell me you’re a synth.”

“I can’t even see your eyes.”

“Metaphorical eye. Now go ahead.”

Danse stares at John’s face, the dark reflective sunglasses, the greaser wig. Now that he’s looking at him, he has absolutely no clue how old this man is supposed to be. Is he in his 30s? 40s? Perhaps even 50? He knows virtually nothing about him, whereas John always seems to know a whole lot about Danse.  
“This is ridiculous.”

“No, you are.”

“You look nothing like Preston.”

“People say I look vaguely human-shaped most of the days. Now let’s go.”

“Only if you take off your glasses.”

John bursts into laughter, his whole body shaking. “Heeey, that’s my game! Don’t try to make this about me.” He composes himself and shakes his head in awe. “Really now. You pick up fast on my intel extraction tricks. I am impressed, Danse.” John smirks. “Anyway, I’m gonna hit the hay.” He hops onto his side of the mattress and fluffs up the baggy pillow.

“Wait. Look at me.”

John turns his head to look at Danse.

“I’m a synth.”

John smiles an unusually open smile as if caught by surprise, and extends an arm to pat Danse approvingly on the shoulder. “They grow up so fast!” He congratulates in a sentimental voice. Some ruffling and shuffling, and they both go to sleep.

This night, John is holding Danse.

 

\---

 

“I want to introduce you to my friends.”

 

John and Danse are in the middle of packing up camp in the early morning hours, a faint glimmer of sunlight peeking through behind layers of river fog.

“You mean we’re going on a detour?” Danse asks.

“No, we drop the op. For now. This is more important, trust me.”

 

\--

 

_It’s a bad idea._

No, it isn’t.

_It is, and you know it._

No it’s not! My instincts tell me.

_I am you instincts._

Shut up.

 

This is only _possibly_ a very bad idea. The odds are Dez will yell at Deacon for a bit while secretly being glad he brought another highly capable Heavy on deck. Danse sure won’t love it at first, because of the deception and all, but Deacon can literally not think of any reason why Danse wouldn’t support their cause. Except for, well, that tiny little voice in the back of his head that is screaming at him a thousand reasons why he won’t. But! Even if Danse decides not to join the Railroad, it’s simply impossible he will rat them out to anybody. So there. Either this works out perfectly, or Deacon will lose his exceptionally comfortable blanket.

With that in mind, the stakes are obviously very high.

 

\---

 

John and Danse wade through partially flooded sewer tunnels, endlessly, it seems. They take so many turns, Danse’s inner compass has trouble detecting north without the help of his power armor instruments. He wrinkles his nose. Even through the helmet’s filter system, the air is moist and thick with spores, his leg armor accumulating foul muck in the joints.

“Your friends must be either a flock of Mirelurks or they’re incapable of smell.”

“Or maybe both! You’ll love them.”

They take another turn leading to a more open space, there’s the echoing sound of a switch being turned on and light floods the room from the other side.

“I cannot believe it.” A voice echoes. “For a second there I thought you brought the Brotherhood right to our doorstep. Who the heck is this, Deacon!”

“The Paladin, in all his glory!”

“Paladin?!”

“Ex-Paladin, actually.”

The whole greeting party is there, Desdemona, Drummer Boy, Glory and her girlfriend 5mm Minigun meet with Danse’s laser rifle. Desdemona seems more than just a little bit angry at Deacon’s latest shenanigans. Leading a fully armed stranger in a power armor with scratched out affiliation colors right to the escape entrance of their super secret HQ might have been a hint too much.

“Can we trust him?”

“Dez, you have to trust him if I tell you who that is.” This is exciting, Desdemona will love it.

“I don’t even know who you are.” It’s Danse cutting through with a mechanic voice of the helmet. A metallic click and Danse’s safety comes off. “For all I know this ‘John’ lead me straight into an ambush.” Danse’s laser rifle is aimed right at Desdemona’s head, Drummer Boy and Glory ready to shred him to pieces if necessary.

“You didn’t tell him?!” Desdemona ignores Danse and snaps at Deacon. “How do you even know he’s sympathetic to our cause?”

“Because he is our cause, Dez. May I introduce the Railroad to the one and only synth who used to serve aboard the Prydwen and made it out alive?”

 

As it turned out, it was a bad idea.

Desdemona is furious that Deacon’s one and only job, information, was done so terribly, so catastrophically poorly, that he simply ‘neglected’ to tell them he had worked with this highly valuable asset for weeks and made contact with Danse almost immediately after he was ostracized. That may be a detail Deacon failed to mention.

And Danse? He’s awkwardly standing there, looking so lost, not knowing what to do when he can’t shoot things. Dammit. Not at all an elegant way for things to go down, Deacon thinks.

“Hey, I’m Glory. Sorry for pointing that thing at you.” She gestures at the minigun now resting at the steps.

Danse shrugs in a nondescript way as much as the power armor allows him to.

“If Deacon ever pulled such a stunt on me, I’d break both his legs. He’s a little shit.”

“I second that.” Danse nods and takes his helmet off, careful not to look in Deacon’s direction.

“So you’re the Paladin. What do you think about the Railroad?”

“So far my assessment is clouded by that little shit over there.”

“I get it. Believe me when I tell you Deacon is a special case. Or don’t. I’m sure you must be sick of other people telling you what to think.” Glory casually leans at the wall behind her to stand more comfortably. “Desdemona asks every newcomer the same question: Would you risk your life for a synth? But I think that’s bullshit. The Brotherhood wanted you dead but you survived. You fought for your right to exist. That’s all I need to know.”

Danse appreciates her words, but also makes her understand that trust for any of them doesn’t come easy to him after this tense first encounter.

Glory chuckles in agreement. “Ask me how I felt when the Railroad busted me out from the Institute. Being a synth comes with its unique set of trust issues.”

Danse looks at her with his mouth gaping open is if he wanted to ask her a million questions. “I’ve never met another synth.”

There is movement on the other side of the corridor and Drummer Boy gets back into HQ while Desdemona is waving Deacon in the same direction.

“Deacon, you created this mess. Go ahead inside, I want you to give me and Carrington all the details you withheld so far.” Desdemona orders.

“I’d love to.” He doesn’t.

“What about you, Paladin?” Desdemona inquires Danse.

“He can enter if he wants.” Glory chimes in before Danse can answer. “I’ll vouch for him.”

The Railroad leader shakes her head and musters Danse, then reaches in her pocket for a long overdue cigarette. “We’ll be watching you, if you sell us out we’ll know about it and bust you.”

Danse nods and apologizes for pointing his gun at Desdemona’s head before, but she’s surprisingly blasé about it.

“So what, you’re gonna come in or not?” Glory invites Danse.

“I’m not standing in this foul sludge any second longer.”

“I know, right? It smell’s awful.”

 

They are not letting it on, but Danse can feel every Railroad Agent’s eyes on him as he walks inside the head quarters. It is narrow and feels crowded due to the crypt’s low ceiling. From what Deacon can see, Glory gives Danse a tour and introduces him to Tinker Tom ( _“Are those recon sensors in your helmet? Can I see?”_ ).

“Deacon, eyes here!” Carrington angrily snaps his fingers right in front of Deacon’s face. Hate that guy, Deacon thinks, and commences to answer the questions him and Desdemona have. Which are quite a lot. And so tiring.

“Look, I didn’t tell you guys because then you would have wanted him watched, you would have wasted our spotter’s time by having him monitored, etcetera etcetera. I just spared us wasting valuable resources we definitely need elsewhere. The tin man is our friend, even if he’s not mine anymore. Bringing him here was a selfless act if you really think about it.”

Carrington sure doesn’t look convinced, to put it mildly, and pressures him to answer way, way more questions about which ops they ran together and if possibly any information could have been leaked to outsiders. Ugh, that annoying asshat. Deacon’s eyes search for Danse again, but Carrington is having none of it, nailing him in place until every last bit has been discussed over and over again.

After what felt like hours, Deacon is finally released from that charming Carrington long after Desdemona already walked away busy with undoubtedly more important things than this merry punitive action.

When he finds Danse at the firing range discussing weapon types with Glory, he seems a bit more relaxed than before even though he’s still wearing his power armor sans helmet. Their conversation dies when Deacon arrives.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?”

“You, soldier, have a lot of explaining to do.” Danse’s usual round puppy eyes are narrow slits of bottled up anger.

“If you two are gonna blow each other’s heads off, at least don’t do it with a crate of explosive nearby, alright?” Glory says and shoots a dark glare at Deacon as she leaves.

“You better have really a good reason for what you did. Despite my strong reservations, I agreed to work with you. I gave you a chance for Nora’s sake. From day one, you knew everything about me, using me to get even more Brotherhood intel. And all you gave me in return were lies! You didn’t even tell me your name, it took that boss of yours to yell it at you!” Danse's voice rises and he rudely pulls Deacon into the more secluded area of the shooting range for some privacy. “You know exactly I’m not parading around with my identity, and you just gave away that sensitive information to a group of people I don’t even know or trust! Explain yourself!”

“You’re right. I deserve it. I messed up big time and you pay the price for that. For that, I am sorry-- In all honesty, if that still means something to you.” His voice is steady, but inside he feels his guts churn. “I just want to say, if I had told you I’m a Railroad Agent, would you have believed me? I mean, really. Ask yourself that question.”

Danse's face turns red from anger accumulating inside of him. “And in order to win my trust you decided to blindside me?! I can’t believe I ever-- what a fool I was.” His grim voice turns into a disillusioned laughter. “To think that I wanted to trust you!”

“I am alright if you resent me if it means the Railroad gets a chance of winning you for our cause.”

“Don’t claim you did this for some greater good! Don’t you dare do that!” Danse’s bulky metal hand gets awfully close to Deacon’s face, pointing at him accusatory. “You showed not the least consideration for a fellow soldier! I was right not to trust you not because you turned out to be a Railroad Agent! But because of your profound disrespect for anything I’ve offered you in this companionship--!” Danse's firmly pursed lips prevent a thousand curses from escaping.

“I know leading you here unprepared was a leap of faith--”

Danse shakes his head and takes a step back as if to measure the other man and his words from a distance. “There would have been other ways.” His voice turns soft but his eyes are piercing through Deacon. “You were right,” Danse closes in that one step again. “You do fly better solo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, this is happening. A better writer could have done this with writing Deacon less OOC, but he's is a self-destructive egg man after all, so it's not completely off the marks I guess


	9. Precipice of War

The day is slow and the sun burning down too hot again. Work on the concrete foundations is arduous and drags on in this heat. Kessler passes by and nods at him, looking a little nervous. She’s not too keen Bunker Hill is openly taking a stand for the Minutemen by letting them build their artilleries in their settlement. 

Preston knows it’s a risk to construct these guns, for him to even travel so close to the Prydwen. But Bunker Hill is a strategic location and time is running out. So far things are quiet-- despite the occasional Brotherhood squad passing through to trade some supplies, Preston’s presence in the settlement is largely ignored. The Brotherhood’s graces may be fickle, but those men and women have their orders, and being closer to the Prydwen might bring the surprising advantage that soldiers fall in line easier and don’t start any unnecessary confrontation with the Minutemen. 

Still, Preston’s jaw tenses up as he sees from afar a power armored person at the town’s gate-- Kessler has a strict policy of questioning any shady looking character like this one-- but Preston is in for a surprise as he recognizes that dark blue coating of the armor with the insignia scratched out from wear.

“My friend!” 

“Garvey?”

Preston storms towards him, explaining to Kessler with some quick words that he’s with the Minutemen and ushers Danse inside. “What the heck are you doing here?” He whispers as they get to a more private place, traders, passerbys, and possibly Institute agents spying on them.

“Deacon.” He murmurs.

“Oh. That means…”

“Garvey, tell me, did you know about all this?” Danse’s voice is tense, unsure whether or not to be angry, perhaps, that damn helmet preventing Preston from properly reading him.

“I am sorry I kept this from you… I try not to get involved in… you know, their politics.” Speaking in code in order to not draw any more attention than they already do.

“I see.” Danse dryly replies, taking a step, going nowhere.

“Are you mad?”

“Not at you. This is entirely on _him_.” He spits the word out. “But also--” Now a soft tone to his voice, “I wasn’t entirely upfront with you either. Preston, I’m--” He looks around, a group of traders passes behind them, mercenaries chatting, laughing, goading on the pack brahmin. “I’m not--” His voice falters, “I’d be the first Minuteman of my kind.”

A confused look before recollection finds him-- Preston’s eyes grow wide, staring at that man clad in heavy armor from head to toe, sounding like he was begging for forgiveness. He wants to hug him, tell him it’s alright, that it doesn’t matter, _oh my god_ \--- it hits Preston--- the Brotherhood tried to murder Danse because of that, of course, everything clicks into place now.

“I trust you.”

Danse reaches his arms as if to touch him, embrace him, but-- he stops the reflex mid motion for not to hurt the Minuteman with any harsh movement of his hydraulic joints. “Thank you. Preston.” He presses out, reaching to gently touch Preston’s hand with cold metal fingers. “I will not disappoint your trust.”

 

\---

 

So many things to talk about, yet the crowded town is packed with curious eyes and ears everyhwere you go. Maybe, Preston insinuates, it would be beneficial to meet and talk with others, with people like Danse.

It seems like the next logical step, Danse has to agree.

However, that step involves going back to the Railroad. What other way is there to meet synths like him?

Preston sends him off with some supplies and a pat on the metal arm that feels like its warmth reaches deeper than just the cold steel layer.

Danse heads back south over the bridge to the ruins under which the Railroad HQ is hidden. He finds the entrance back into the sewers after only a little searching, but then hesitates. 

What does he seek down there?

The Railroad is helping synths. Maybe they can help him-- Help him understand himself better? From beyond the river he can hear Vertibirds take off in the distance. The Prydwen is right there in sightshot-- Danse’s chest grows tight.

The Brotherhood wanted to kill him. Maybe the Railroad can help him live on.

He opens the hatch and climbs down into the sewers.

 

\---

 

_Congratulations, Deacon, what a hilariously giant fuck up that was-- great job, positively awesome, absolute perfection. What a talent to thoroughly destroy any trust he might have had in you._

Not like he deserves Danse’s friendship anyway. Or anybody’s, for that matter.

_Still the same old wasteland scum that has no business running with the Railroad._

Deacon is hunched over, going through some files. Paperwork is meant as yet another punitive action, yes, but nothing and nobody can punish Deacon quite like himself.

“PAM, here’s some data you might wanna take a look at.” He slides her a sheet of paper without looking up.

“Positive. Updating prediction parameters. Commencing analysis. Data processing…” The Assaultron replies with a mechanic voice.

There’s some commotion in the main room and Deacon perks up. He hears a back and forth between Desdemona and Carrington, then power armor moving. 

“We can give you all the data we have on your case. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Can we take the risk to let him learn about PAM?”

“I’ll allow it.”

When eventually a bulky silhouette appears in the doorway, Deacon’s heart stops for a beat. “Hi there.”

“No need for a chat, _‘John’_.”

“Yeah, great. If you’re here for data, PAM is busy computing. It’ll just be a minute...”

The space between them feels heavy and suffocating like molten lead. The only sound filling the silence is the quiet fiddle music of Radio Freedom’s broadcast playing on some tiny old radio.

“You know, I liked you better when you were openly hostile. Your antagonism was more honest.”

“It’s what I do. Lie.”

Danse huffs in disapproval. “I trusted you not to stoop so low. I was wrong.”

Deacon’s mouth is dry. “Danse. I lead you to HQ. I’m basically standing before you with my pants down. What more can I do to prove--”

“Assessment complete.” PAM’s mechanical voice cuts through. “Updated approximations available.” She turns to Danse. “Scanning unknown entity. Accessing data matrix. Entity identified as bio-engineered synth generation 3, unit designation M7-97. Institute recall code not on record. Initiating dialogue mode. Hello.”

Danse stares at the robot, opening his mouth to say something, then closing it again before he starts speaking. “What is a recall code?”

PAM has no time to answer before Deacon turns up the volume of the radio. _“We interrupt this broadcast for an urgent message! Today is the world ‘Locate An Old Friend Day’! I repeat, today is ‘Locate An Old Friend Day’!”_

Fuck-- 

_“Don’t be surprised to see an old friend at your doorstep today, or several of them! A lot of them, actually!”_

The broadcast message becomes the background music to the whole HQ stirring into motion, people running, shouting, storming in the doorways--

_“This is Radio Freedom, The Voice of the Minutemen! Remember, today is ‘Locate An Old Friend Day’, stay safe out there!”_

“Paladin!” Deacon reaches for a pistol, “I hope you have no problem shooting Brotherhood, cuz we’re getting company!”

Without hesitation, Danse gets ready for battle, it’s a simple reflex pavlov’d into him no matter the adversary. The Railroad agents are in position, all entrances are barricaded, the automatic weapons hot-- and then they wait. It gets eerily silent, everybody listening for the faintest noise.

Turmoil is heard from above-- The muffled sound of an explosion in the distance, underground. The relentless shredding of a minigun, much too close to the front entrance-- the door of the escape tunnel flies out of its hinges and thuds to the ground, Brotherhood soldiers emerging and immediately shooting at everything and everybody.

The HQ becomes a trap, their grave, possibly-

Danse pushes Deacon behind him, taking shots, charges ahead, swiftly taking out a Brotherhood knight-- every Railroad agent shooting, but more and more soldiers are coming through the door, one, two, three, four, five, many, much too many, a lot of them in light armor, they fall quickly, others in heavy power armor, milling down Danse’s protection in a splatter of shrapnel. An explosion nearby knocks him to the ground, takes his sight, resounds sharply in his ears. The dust sets, a human shape hovers over Danse-- Paladin Brandis is staring down at him, disbelief in his eyes, He shouts, a shot fired-- screams of pain behind Danse, John?, “snap out of it!” he yells, Danse lifts his rifle and pulls the trigger. The last knights go down-- and just like that, the battle is over.

Cracked bricks tumble to the ground, groans of the wounded, the air thick with fumes and blood and the scent of burned human flesh. Danse looks over his shoulder where heavy armor plates used to block his sight, and sees Deacon behind him, writhing in pain.

“You know the good thing about Brotherhood weapons-… laser shots cauterize the wound immediately.. no blood loss…!”

Deacon forces a clever smirk on his lips. 

“Just hurts like a bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to all who read this far! your comments and kudos kept me motivated! 
> 
> see u in part 2!


End file.
